It all started with good intentions.
On the last morning of my inaugural Vegas trip, I realized that I’d barely ventured outside of any hotel property I’d stepped foot in (MGM Grand, Hard Rock Casino) and thought it’d be best to check out the strip before heading to the airport to catch a late afternoon flight.
The problem is, we started at The Cosmopolitan where I immediately morphed into a raccoon with all of the sparkly, shiny, lighted decor glowing all around me.
The height of my sensory overload peaked at The Chandelier bar which was a must stop for a late morning cocktail (it’s Vegas, don’t judge. And plus, it’s football season and perfectly acceptable to drink liquor before noon, right?) and where I threw any remaining ounce of classiness out of my body.
We thought one drink wouldn’t hurt before heading out to catch a few last hours of sun and fun down the Las Vegas strip.
But then we made new friends like Olga from Germany (who had harsh love advice for me but kept padding it with liquor, so I listened).
And this started happening. Over and over.
As the libations kept being poured, we didn’t want our Vegas vacay to end (and I didn’t really want to leave the confines of another hotel property), so we pushed our flight back a few hours in order to keep the day party going (who cared if the new arrangements had us landing at 1am and we had to work the next morning? We certainly didn’t mind. Until the next morning arrived, of course).
If we hadn’t changed our flight, this photo shoot would never have taken place (who really needs to walk the strip, anyhow?).
And if we’d kept our previous travel plans, I never would have been able to strain my back trying to attain the perfect arch for my new modeling portfolio.
What would fancy Las Vegas casino bars do without trashtacular tourists such as myself?
Be a million notches classier, perhaps?